An e-mail newsletter for and about Waverly people, used with permission in the HLW Herald and on this web site.

June 2, 2001

In its "Points to Ponder" section, "Reader's
Digest" carried this moving story by Cy Fey.

An elderly gentleman was weeping noticeably while standing
alone at Washington's Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Moved by the sight, a
young man walked over to the old man, put his hand on his shoulder, and
said, "One of yours, sir?"

The old man said softly, "Not one of them, son. All
of them."

HANGING UP THE VETERANS

Otherwise known as the American Legion Photo Project.

"We are in the process of collecting funds to professionally
restore the veterans' picture collection, which is displayed in the city
offices. Your contribution will help defray the $2,000 cost of this project.

"If you have a picture (three by five inches or smaller)
of any local veteran, which you would like displayed in our collection,
mail it to the following address. Our hope is to have this restoration
completed by Memorial Day next year.

For more information call (763) 658-4294. Donations should
be made payable to, and will be accepted at: Veterans' Photo Restoration
Fund, 1903 North Shore Drive, Waverly, MN 55390."

Ray Daigle started this when the boys came home from World
War II. Everybody who came in to Ray's Inn ("where hamburger is king")
was asked for his picture. Lori Daigle Jolicoeur and Jack Daigle, himself
a veteran of Vietnam, remember their parents tacking the pictures up on
the walls of the place until they had them completely covered.

Twenty years later, the photos were moved to the fire
hall, and then to the city offices. Gerry Smith, noted for her activism
to the point where people avoid her for fear of being named to a committee,
is spearheading this worthy cause. She has not, as of yet, impersonated
the mayor of Howard Lake with the same name, but I would imagine she must
find this tempting at times when she wants to get things done.

As a side note, we had our own lady mayor long before
lady mayors became politically correct, and a good mayor she was, Alice
Smith. She is related by marriage to Gerry (no, not the mayor - but to
our own Gerry Smith, that is Geraldine Meehan Smith. Former Mayor Alice
Smith's son is a physician, Dr. Jim Smith, M.D., who practices in St. Cloud.)

I have the same problem Gerry has. Waverlyites avoid me,
too. When I call people from Waverly, they are afraid to talk with me because
they don't want their names in the paper.

My mother never had that problem when she called people
for news. I think the reason they hang up on me is they think I won't get
anything straight. They trusted my mother. I am in serious need of a fact-checker.

GERRY SMITH'S ACCOUNT OF MEMORIAL DAY IN WAVERLY, MAY
28, 2001

"The Mass at the cemetery with Father Robert Wiley
of Saint Mary's Parish, Waverly, started off the day at 9:00, with the
sun shining and no clouds. It was in the low 70s, with only a soft breeze
from the lake, so the sounds carried perfectly, the silence broken only
by the birds, the prayers, and the music from St. Mary's choir. There was
a very good crowd in attendance, larger even than last year.

"Then came the parade through downtown Waverly, with
two blocks of Main Street packed with people.

"It was heartening to see all of the young people,
swarms of them, turn out this year. I asked Don where all the old people
were and he said, 'They're all dead!'

"The kids still dived for the cartridges after the
rifle squad fired. And this year, there was not one train to interrupt
us!

"Commander Dave Remer and wife, Nancy (Painschab),
couldn't attend because they were in Washington, D.C. at the National Memorial
for the Vietnam Veterans.

"The new crosses added this year were for Le Roy
"Bud" Claessens, Don Olson (whose wife, Caroline Decker, preceded
him in death), Leo Bronder, and Daniel Sexton.

"Lynda Jensen was there from the paper and took pictures,
so you will get all the dope from her."

LIVE (BARELY) FROM TEXAS

For those of you who plan to move to Texas, my advice
is: don't.

There are Texas readers who have been offended by what
they call my "ungrateful and constant attacks on the Lone Star state."
("Effen, you don't like it here, feller, you know what you kin do.
Don't mess with Texas.")

Last week, someone didn't like my wisecrack, which seemed
to question the veracity of President Lyndon Johnson. I should have remembered
that he had been given the key to the city one time when he visited Waverly,
in the company of Hubert Humphrey, so he is really a Waverlyite, if only
an adopted one.

The First Lady (with the redundant name of First Lady
Lady Bird) had a better handle on Waverly, since she had been there more
than once, to hang out with Muriel. In fact, she had given a National Beautification
Award to Ann Happe and Pauline Claessens for their years of diligence in
tending the plots on city property, which produced an abundance of petunias
and daisies (I think). Glads for sure.

If my mother had been alive to cover it for "The
Waverly Star," she would have known the names of their plants. She
also would have pronounced their award the equivalent of The Congressional
Medal of Honor.

My mother, even as a reporter, tended to exaggerate, a
trait often associated with the Irish. For example, if anyone asked her
about one of her sons, whether it was Henry, Myles, John, or Paul, she
would not always remember the name of the company they worked for at the
time, but she would always end by saying, "Well, you know. He's the
head of it."

Well, go ahead and move to Texas if you want, even if
it's to a town called Uncertain, Texas, which is between Texarkana and
Marshall. Living there can get you into a game of "Who's on first?"
Just listen to this:

"Where are you from?"

"Uncertain."

"No, I mean, where are you from?"

Cut and Shoot, Texas (pop. 903) is just north of Houston
on Highway 105, but it is not a popular retirement community since it has
been known to live up to its name. At least in Cut and Shoot, they know
how to pronounce the name of their town. This can be a challenge in Texas.

WHO PAYS THE PIPERS?

Richard Sheppard, our contributor from Great Britain,
chimed in to take exception to my insulting his bag piping friends. Next
thing you know, he will be telling us that Haggis is good for you.

He says, "Re: Towns called Waverly. What about the
main station in Edinburgh? The rail station in the middle of town, and
down in the valley below Holyrood Castle is called Waverly Station.

"The finest bagpipers in the world are there to greet
you. I've been to Scotland five times in the past 15 years, and going by
train, I end up in Waverly Station.

"Edinburgh, with its bagpipes, has gotten to be my
favorite European city, with Heidelberg, Germany being a close second.

"One time, I went to Edinburg with my brother, Derek,
in 1995. By the time we reached Waverly Station, we had used up most of
our vacation money, so we ended up sleeping under the stars in Holyrood
Park."

I don't know why this is, but the tourist boards of the
British Isles seem to think we like the god-awful noise. They have even
posted a piper outside Shannon Airport to welcome you to Ireland and to
hasten your departure. In case you hate to leave Ireland, it makes you
glad to board the plane.

There are pipers with cans in front of them here and there
throughout the British Isles, and even in civilized places like Ottawa,
the capital of Canada. Good luck to all of them, but please don't encourage
them by tossing money their way or the plague will spread.

On my side in the bagpipe controversy is Glen Keener,
who recently compared the voice of Bob Dylan to bagpipe music. "He
is the only singer I can think of who can hit all the notes correctly,
but make it sound like a drone . . . you know, as in bagpipes."

Glen had noted that Bob Dylan had just turned 60. This
was stunning news to me, a person who still thinks of him as an ugly, guttural-sounding,
long-haired lad with a badly-tuned 12-string guitar.

I had seen him perform in a bar on the West Bank of the
U of M. I remember saying to myself, "This kid can't sing! He should
have stayed on the Iron Range."

I am the same dude who thought Elvis would never last,
and that the Beatles were just foreign punks with an attitude.

MISSING PERSON FOUND

I found "the missing person," Alvin Broll. It
was so dumb of me not to be able to locate him on my own.

Alvin's brother had attended the St. Mary's reunion August
26 and seven other Brolls had sent in their money with the intention to
attend.

I had just asked the wrong people, "Whatever became
of Alvin?"

And the Waverly telephone directory lists five Brolls.
I am not a great investigative reporter, as the Herald staff already knows.

As it was, I got an e-mail from Alvin, and had an enjoyable
visit with him on the telephone. Yes, he did remember how I used to go
out to his farm after school and on Saturdays and jump around in the hay
mow. I wasn't any help otherwise, but Alvin didn't mention that. He always
was a really nice guy.

This is what he said in his e-mail: "Arlene Stack(hart)-Tompkins
sent me the Howard Lake paper and that's how I knew you were looking for
me. I didn't know about the reunion.

"Nobody knows we live in the sticks. I'm still kicking,
but not too high. I had a back operation and a fused neck last year.

"I live about 45 miles from Brainerd. I retired about
eight years ago and went up north. I've been here ever since. We're on
a small lake. I am 70 years old."

Alvin spent long, hard years as a truck driver, most of
the time with La Harve Transfer. He hauled pianos for over 27 years, and
it's my guess that didn't do his back any good.

He always was a hard worker. I am really glad he is enjoying
life now. He said he liked truck-driving because he couldn't stand staying
in one place (such as a school desk) for too long a time.

As a service to readers, below is a guide to the pronunciation
of the names of some Texas towns which are likely retirement destinations
for cold-weary refugees from Minnesota.

A pretty town near Uncertain is called "Palestine"
(Pop. 18,042). In East Texas it is pronounced "Pal-Ah-Steen."
(As in the joke about the Sunday School class which was asked to identify
where Jesus was born. When the preacher couldn't get any of them to come
up with an answer, he said, "Hit was Palesteen!" One of the lads
in the class said, "Shoot, I knew hit had to be some place in East
Texas.")

Mexia, Texas (pop. 6,833) is pronounced "May-Hee-Ah."

They seem to have trouble with X's in Texas. Bexar County
(where San Antonio, is located) is often called "Becks-Air" by
outlanders, but it is, of course, pronounced "Bear."

Bedias, Texas, which was settled by former slaves, is
pronounced "Bead-Eyes."

Nacogdoches, Texas, a city of 30,872, where Stephen F.
Austin University is located, is pronounced "Narco-Doses." It
was pronounced that way even before the college kids came to town.

Refugio, Texas (pop. 3,148), Nolan Ryan's home town just
north of Corpus Christi, can really get you into trouble. The Anglo radio
announcers, and the Anglo half of the population, call it "Re-Fur-Ee-Oh"
but the Mexican-Americans pronounce it "Re-Foo-Kee-Oh." How you
pronounce that name could well determine your future in that city. It's
one of those towns which lives up to the term "the wrong side of the
tracks," because the Anglos live on one side of the tracks and the
Mexicans on the other.

And they can't even agree on the name of their town.

DOT warning: Wait until the road is fixed before you move
there. You will be reminded of Highway 12 if you don't.

When it comes to Waxahachie, Texas (pop. 18,168) (Gesundheit!)
you are on your own.

The State's very name, Texas, is still pronounced "Tay-Haas"
by people who believe we stole it - along with a whole sub-continent, from
Mexico ("May-Hee-Coh").

I haven't yet exhausted the subject but I am sure I have
exhausted all of my readers by now.

THE WINDY CITY

Right now, here in Corpus Christi, they are holding the
United States Windsurfing Association National Championships. Why Corpus
Christi? Because we have the wind and we have Corpus Christi Bay.

They call Chicago "the windy city." When I lived
there, I thought it was because of the gales that came across Lake Michigan
and took my hat away, but it was really because of the windbags who ran
for office there. A political writer dubbed Chicago "the windy city"
because of them.

Here, in Corpus Christi, we hold the real title. The wind
that keeps you leaning forward all the time is God's gift to us, because
without it we would bake to death.

You may have seen windsurfing and didn't even know it.
On Waverly Lake, in the winter, you have seen sails on ice skates with
some brave fool attached to a bicycle seat whipping along at speeds up
to 50 miles an hour, with his hinder barely inches above the sharp ice.
Not so here.

The windsurfers come from all over the world with their
thousands of dollars worth of equipment.

While an ordinary surfboard starts at around $500 for
the cheapest, sailboarding gets you into the thousands. Then, add the price
of a rubber suit for the sissies, and the vehicles to haul it all, and
you have a bundle of money.

The cars of the surfers and their followers fill up the
church parking lots along Ocean Drive here. There are so many SUVs, the
church lots look like they are hosting a Republican fundraiser. The windsurfers
and their money are all most welcome. Thank God for the wind.

Yesterday, it blew so strong that a neighbor kid, who
plays in his high school band, got screwed right into the ground while
he was practicing on the tuba in his backyard.